Chapter 84

Chapter 84: Essentials of Chen Art

Wang Jie patted his pocket.

Not enough.

Jiang Cai immediately spoke up. “Master, don’t worry. Tower Lord ordered this before he left. Master can buy whatever you want.”

Wang Jie sighed. “It’s mainly because I spent too much earlier. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have bought so many disaster materials.”

He had burned through four hundred fifty thousand starstone the moment he stepped out.

And the Puppeteer Tower had covered another one hundred thirty thousand.

Did money really vanish this fast?

It didn’t help that what he bought was absurd.

His new storage ring was even better than Wen Zhao’s. Even in the Silver Radiance Empire, not many people would own one like it.

The formation scroll was the same. Who could afford that?

When Wang Jie returned, Mad Clan beings were waiting for him.

Seeing them was like seeing a pile of money.

He still had plenty to buy: seal-chen stone, Chen artifacts, more formation scrolls if possible—

And disaster materials.

He was desperate for funds.

“Master,” one of the Mad Clan beings said, “the clan discussed it. If Master is willing to star-refine two hundred weapons for us, we can offer this item.”

It tapped at its personal terminal, and a light screen bloomed into the air.

Watching a beast-like creature operate a terminal still felt strange to Wang Jie.

And why had the number increased?

Two hundred weapons?

On the screen was a yellowed book—thin, ancient-looking, only a few pages.

“This is the essentials of Chen art,” the Mad Clan being said.

Wang Jie’s breath caught. “What?”

“The essentials of Chen art.”

The Mad Clan being’s tone shifted, reverent, as if the object carried enormous weight.

Wang Jie didn’t know how valuable it truly was, but anything connected to Chen art was different.

Chen art had left an impression on him deeper than scars.

Shu Mu Ye’s Chen art had been absurd.

If Wang Jie could learn Chen art too, his combat strength would leap.

“Can you cultivate Chen art through this?” Wang Jie asked.

“We don’t know,” the Mad Clan being admitted. “But it came from a powerful Chen art cultivator.”

“Our Eight-Hell Mad Clan does not cultivate Chen art. We didn’t want it to leak out, so we kept it until now.”

“Now that Master is here, giving it to Master will not dishonor it.”

Wang Jie spoke slowly. “What’s the point of giving me a book that might not even let me master Chen art?”

Before the Mad Clan being could answer, Wang Jie continued, “But I can see your sincerity. How about this.”

He raised three fingers through the puppet.

“Triple the price, plus this book. I’ll star-refine as fast as I can, but I can’t promise the exact number I’ll finish in the end.”

The Mad Clan being’s voice dropped. “Master, isn’t that price too high?”

The puppet made a simple, polite gesture: please.

Wang Jie wasn’t afraid they would refuse.

Others might not know, but Wang Jie did.

The Shuang Hua Sect was about to strike the ninth star chain.

The Eight-Hell Mad Clan’s urgency meant they had to know it too.

Deputy Domain Lord Yan’s attack on the fourth defense line hadn’t been a simple provocation.

With war approaching, even if Wang Jie asked for four times or five times the price, they could still pay.

They ruled an entire star chain. Their resources were beyond imagination.

But Wang Jie also didn’t dare push too far. He didn’t want the Eight-Hell Mad Clan setting its sights on him.

The Mad Clan beings conferred among themselves and contacted someone. Then they said, “Master, we are willing to pay four times the price, plus the essentials of Chen art, in exchange for Master star-refining two hundred weapons within three hundred days.”

“We also promise that as long as Master has time, you may continue to star-refine weapons for us. Is that acceptable?”

Wang Jie blinked.

They were under more pressure than he’d guessed—they’d even raised the price themselves.

“Fine,” he said.

He wouldn’t lose either way.

Not just two hundred—two thousand would be easy for him.

The Mad Clan beings looked surprised. Could it really be done within three hundred days?

The ninth star chain had hosted Chen refiners before. Their speed was roughly one item every three days for refining a first-tribulation Chen artifact, and that was with minimal rest.

Two hundred items would take six hundred days.

Was this man twice as fast?

Since Wang Jie agreed, they said nothing more. If he failed, they wouldn’t need to pay such a ridiculous price anyway.

They immediately shipped the two hundred weapons to the Puppeteer Tower—along with two million starstone as a deposit.

Looking at the starstone piled like a small hill, Wang Jie sighed.

War really was profitable.

In normal times, two million starstone would have been the full price.

Now it was only a deposit.

If he finished the entire order, he would earn eight million starstone.

After the Mad Clan beings left, Wang Jie called Jiang Cai over and returned the one hundred thirty thousand starstone the Puppeteer Tower had covered.

Jiang Cai tried to refuse, but Wang Jie insisted.

A loan was a loan. A gift was a gift.

Principles mattered.

Next came the star-refining.

Jiang Cai’s eyes were full of awe. Two hundred weapons—how long would it take?

[One night.]

Wang Jie did the math. At most, he could finish in one night.

But he couldn’t hand everything over that quickly. It would be suspicious.

He decided on a pace: one weapon every day and a half.

And collecting ten Chen artifacts for Sorrowwater Art would be laughably easy. He could infuse starforce into ten weapons and be done.

For now, Wang Jie opened the book: the essentials of Chen art.

The yellowed pages were made from animal hide. He had no idea how many years had passed. It felt like it might crumble if he breathed too hard.

He turned the pages carefully and read word by word.

When he finished, he wasn’t sure whether he’d been cheated.

It was called “essentials,” and it truly was only that: a brief introduction to Chen art and its stages. No detailed applications. It mostly explained what Chen art was.

So-called Chen art was a method of using starforce.

A method wasn’t the same as a skill.

Yet it was similar.

Both could be used in battle, but a method demanded far more than a skill ever could.

The clearest difference was this: a skill treated starforce as raw power. A method dissected starforce completely, then recombined it with precision beyond imagination—turning decay into wonder.

Only by reaching a high enough level in manipulating starforce could one perform Chen art.

Generally, the Star-Breaking realm was the minimum.

Anyone who could perform Chen art at Star-Breaking was considered a rare genius—a once-in-a-century talent.

At Full-Star or Roaming-Star, being able to perform Chen art still counted as exceptional.

Someone like Shu Mu Ye—able to perform Chen art at the eighth seal—couldn’t be judged by normal standards at all.

The more Wang Jie understood the universe, the more clearly he grasped how shocking it was that he had defeated Shu Mu Ye back then.

Thinking back on their three duels, no one would believe him if he told the story.

He lowered his gaze to the book again.

It recorded four stages of using starforce: one gaze, three thousand; a drop hides the sea; leaf-fall star vault; and infinite worlds.

But this “essentials” only explained one gaze, three thousand.

One gaze, three thousand meant that where ordinary people saw starforce as a single drop, someone at this level saw three thousand drops.

You divided that single drop again and again, magnifying it endlessly, until you could perceive three thousand identical drops of starforce.

That was the realm of one gaze, three thousand.

And it was the minimum threshold for Chen art.

If you couldn’t reach it, what you used wasn’t Chen art.

It was just a battle skill.

Chen art was performed with starforce.

But if Wang Jie cultivated lockforce… could he do the same with lockforce?

If lockforce could be manipulated the way starforce could, would it become a “lock method”?

Wang Jie raised his hand. Lockforce flowed out and danced above his palm.

One drop?

He tried to compress the lockforce into a single drop.

It was difficult—but not impossible.

And the difficulty felt oddly familiar.

Soybeans.

Wang Jie’s eyes sharpened.

It was exactly like soybeans.

Back when he practiced qi refining, he had started with soybeans. Now, splitting lockforce gave him the same sensation.

The target had changed, but the method felt familiar.

He wasn’t a stranger to that.

In only two days, he not only learned to split lockforce into drop after drop, but began to see through it.

Using the terminology from the essentials of Chen art, he had reached—

One gaze, three hundred.

To perform Chen art, he needed one gaze, three thousand.

Three hundred and three thousand looked close on paper, but Wang Jie knew better.

The higher you climbed, the harder each step became.

He still needed time.

But qi refining complemented this perfectly, giving him twice the result with half the effort.

That day, someone came to visit.

“Brother,” a voice called, “are you in?”

Wang Jie looked toward the courtyard entrance.

Bei Feng.

It seemed he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Wang Jie knew this man would find a way to make him take him out.

“So it’s Brother Bei Feng,” Wang Jie said. “Come in.”

Xia Bei Yi entered the courtyard. He’d come to use this Chen refiner to get out.

The mission deadline was close. War was about to begin. His part was crucial.

And this was his first mission.

He couldn’t afford to fail.

For that, even paying a small price was acceptable.

“What?” Wang Jie said, feigning surprise. “A second-tribulation Chen artifact?”

Bei Feng had just suggested, again, that they go out for a walk. Wang Jie had refused again with the same solemn line about rules—even though he himself had already gone out several times.

Wang Jie spread his hands. “If Brother has difficulties, then forget it.”

Xia Bei Yi ground his teeth, but his voice carried a hint of pleading. “Brother, you can go out anytime. Just take me along for a stroll. I’m only cooped up. It’s not worth a second-tribulation Chen artifact, right?”

A second-tribulation Chen artifact wasn’t cabbage.

Even as a true disciple of the Shuang Hua Sect, he couldn’t casually hand one over.

Wang Jie tilted his head, curious. “The Puppeteer Tower said they were worried about infiltrators from the eighth star chain, and those infiltrators are only Ten Seals. Brother Bei Feng, you’re not Ten Seals. Why can’t you go out?”

Xia Bei Yi said bitterly, “I don’t know either.”

“Exactly.” Wang Jie’s tone turned serious. “That means things are more serious than we think. They aren’t telling us everything.”

Xia Bei Yi clenched his fists. “But asking for a second-tribulation Chen artifact just to go out for a stroll… Brother, isn’t that…”

Wang Jie turned, opened the courtyard gate, and gestured him out.

Xia Bei Yi caved.

Wang Jie obtained the second-tribulation Chen artifact: a large bell. In danger, it could cover his whole body and block attacks. Its greatest use was that if he fell into the void of space, it could carry him drifting along. He couldn’t control it, but at least he wouldn’t die immediately.

It was like buying a chance to gamble for life in the vacuum—precious beyond price.

Xia Bei Yi handed it over with resentment. He even forced a smile.

As they walked through Qing Shan Cheng, Wang Jie kept pointing out sights and explaining the layout. Xia Bei Yi, deliberately or not, guided their route toward the mission site.

Wang Jie knew perfectly well.

He wanted to look too.

When they passed the mission site, Xia Bei Yi’s gaze jolted.

[They’re here.]

[The contact is here.]

[There’s a marker.]

At the same moment, Wang Jie’s eyes also fixed on it.

He’d visited this area many times and memorized the surroundings. The marker was new—added recently, and impossible to miss.

And in that brief instant, Bei Feng’s qi rippled out of control.

Because he’d seen the marker.

This spot was also some distance from the place Wang Jie had always believed was the mission site.

So even the mission location had been wrong.

From the very beginning, they had all been expendable pawns.

This—

This was the real mission site.